That Damn Smile
by Def Liepard
Summary: There are a few awkward downsides to belonging to a species with wings, as Naesala teaches Reyson.


Reyson knew something was up with Naesala pretty soon after the storm clouds rolled in and the raven king seemed to suddenly develop an unbearable hunger for the heron's neck. He simply approached him, carrying a bag of cocoa powder, and decided to take his fill of lips refused to leave it, and even as Naesala locked the door he had one hand on Reyson's coat and his lips buried into his jawline. As much as he was hesitant to go along with anything Naesala suggested, he had a way with more than just words, and all those hungry kisses wore him down rather quickly.

He managed to pull himself away, body reluctant to do anything other than press up against the wall and ask him for it, but he fought through that. "Why here? Why now?" He took off his boots, back to the wall to keep the laguz noble from trying anything funny. "Does the sound of thunder really do that much for you?"

"Maybe I simply found you irresistible in that moment," he said, kicking off his own boots with far less grace. He honeyed his words, as if wanting Reyson to see right through them, but he followed up his subtle admission of being up to something by disrobing and giving Reyson's eyes something that his mind would have trouble arguing against.

Averting his eyes, the heron started to undress too, making sure that the door was securely locked, lest that be the cruel trick he'd laid. He knew better than to fully trust the dark-haired man in anything he did, and wondered what his angle was. "It's storming outside. Curious that you picked now, when we can't go outside, to find me irresistible."

Bird laguz had a few problems that others didn't when it came to lovemaking. Their wings left them in a precarious state of needing space, something that was not really accounted for by the building habits of any other creature. They often took to the outdoors or even the skies to mate, but loud cracks of thunder put that one to rest, and the ferocity with which rain struck the window in the room made him hesitant to let even a breeze come in.

Instead of addressing the suspicion, Naesala descended upon Reyson again, silencing him with his lips. The raven king's hands complicated the act of undressing by tagging in various directions and grabbing at the skin beneath in ways that merely weakened the heron's resolve and knees further. Their breathing quickened, Reyson's doing so a little faster as his attempts at keeping himself together fell short.

In spite of Naesala's seeming efforts to the contrary, Reyson eventually managed to get the last of his clothes off, and the chill in the air from the early autumn storm found itself quickly faded away as the other's warm body pressed into his, pinning him to the wall and running the tips of his black wings along his hips. Reyson's own white wings wrapped awkwardly around Naesala in return, finding a certain comfort in the most basic of gestures among their kind. It was an oddly sensual act, certainly something that didn't quite click with the raven king's very casual approach to him, but he couldn't resist the warmth and gentleness in his actions.

A few shifts and pushes later, their rigid cocks pressed together and Reyson's lower lip vanished between Naesala's teeth. Any fight the heron had left in him was gone, and he leaned against the king's body with slow burning need, his hips shifting and grinding their shafts together, the heat inside of his chest swelling. The cruelest thing about Naesala's kiss was that no matter how they kissed, he always seemed to have a smirk on his face, and the feeling of that smile against his lips taunted him.

One of the black-haired man's hands grasped their pressed-together dicks and began to pump slowly. It was a more steady motion, one that amplified the heat more than frantic, clumsy rolls of hips could. Uniting their pleasure into one hard, strong grip that dragged up and down their lengths. In particular, Naesala's thumb remained pressed against the heron's tip, rubbing firmly and leaving him an absolute mess. His wings shifted about, shivering and twitching in ways he couldn't do much to control. It wasn't unusual for wings to jerk and shudder at random times, especially during sex, but the way Naesala always drew amusement from his reactions told him that his own reactions have been a bit more extreme than usual.

"There you go again," he muttered into his lips, sounding way too casual about what he was doing, despite the fact they were both under the same pressure. "Having trouble keeping your wings still?"

Reyson had to keep his mouth shut for a moment, stifling down a moan that tried to slip past his lips. There wasn't much point in hiding it, given the way his hips had began to buck against the hand more readily, but he had his pride. Once he was certain he could get it out without conceding anything, he shut his eyes tightly. "It wouldn't be so funny to you if you didn't get around so much."

That dark, velvety chuckle made Reyson twist harder against the wall, his hands finding their way onto Naesala's chest just in time to feel teeth nibble at his lip again. Reyson hated getting the silent treatment, because usually Naesala was so very eager to talk and not stop talking, and only ever left so many conversations hanging because he enjoyed the anticipation and how much it annoyed him. The way Reyson got so worked up amused him to absolutely no end.

After frotting for just long enough for Reyson to begin grasping a little too desperately at Naesala's hips for the heron to be okay with, the raven pulled it all away. Before Reyson could complain-and Naesala knew he was going to complain-he found himself pulled away from the wall and bent over the bed. He tried to get a word out, but a cold, slimy feeling pressed into his rear, and he couldn't manage to eke out a single noise. It was the familiar feeling of oil on fingers, of calloused tips prodding him in a way that would have made his back twist up had he not felt a hand pressing down between his wing joints, keeping him over the bed and still.

Well, almost still. Naesala hadn't tried to keep his wings still, which was a fool's errand anyway, and as if compensating for how much his back wanted to arch, they flapped in jerking, unsteady motions. The heron struggled to keep them still as the slick fingers slid deeper into his ass, making a scissor motion to slowly loosen him up and prepare him, an act which ensured his wings would only rebel further as time went on. Especially once Naesala replaced his fingers.

"This isn't the most comfortable place," Reyson said through gritted teeth as his hips began instinctively pressing back against the invading digits. His knees dug into the bare wooden floor, cold, stiff and unforgiving. "Could we move up onto the bed properly? That's what it's there for."

Reyson was a fool for expecting an answer, and he knew as much when the fingers withdrew, running their slickness very teasingly down to his sac where they wiped themselves clean of what oil lingered. He was left to lie there for a moment as Naesala slicked himself up for extra ease, and when he heard the bottle of oil being placed onto the bedside table, he drew in a sharp breath and prepared himself for what was to come.

The familiar feeling of the raven king's tip against his entrance made Reyson's wings twitch with excitement, and he didn't even bother keeping that hidden, as a moan slipped out of his throat at that same second and he was just about done trying to keep up the appearance that there was anything he wanted more in that moment than to feel it shove its way inside of him. To feel those strong hands dig their fingertips into his hips way too hard, and for that sweet gray area of intention, where he wasn't sure how much of it was intentionally keeping him under his hand, or if it was the raven's own reflexive show of weakness. He liked the latter, because Naesala had enough overt gestures of control, but there was something very raw and appealing about the belief that maybe he wasn't as collected as he seemed all the time. Especially in the bedroom, the only time he ever shut up when given all the openings for smartassery in the world, and it was just so he could wear that smarmy grin.

Naesala's cock pushed into him slowly, finishing the job of his fingers as he ensured that Reyson's ass was a perfect fit for him. Predictably, his fingertips sank too hard into the heron's hips, holding him steadily in place as he began to pull back. The black-haired man looked down at the blond, biting his lower lip as, without a hand on his back, he began to arch up toward him, more of those shameful sounds passing his lips. He found far too much enjoyment in subtly toying with Reyson, making him squirm and emit all the noises he was too proud to ever make of his own accord.

Outside, the storm raged, thunder growing louder and more frequent, and Reyson couldn't have been happier. He could hide his loudest moans beneath the bursts of noise, but the flashes of light were too short to hide motions, and so he had to accept that each time Naesala's thrusts were angled just perfectly, his head would roll back and his wings would shudder. They were doing a lot of that, more so than usual, and he wondered if that was the impetus for his current position, knelt down in front of the bed where his wings had plenty of space to embarrass him.

And embarrass him they did. Naesala wasn't even watching for Reyson's head anymore, his hands reaching forward to push his long hair out in front of his shoulders so that he had a clear view of the virgin white wings in front of him before returning his grip to the man's hips. It was a nice thing to focus on as he slammed his hips forward against the heron's ass, burying his entire length into him with each deep thrust. He knew that he was on cloud nine, with the tight, hot passage snug around him, but the best way to tell that his partner was getting mileage out of it was to watch the way his wings continued to twitch and flap on their own accord. The sensitivity of Reyson's wings over any other lagus he'd managed to charm his way into the bed of was a source of endless entertainment.

The two mens' breaths grew more ragged as they raced to the end, each thrust making Reyson's lower body shake and his cock slap against his thigh. He didn't even need to reach between his legs and deal with his erection, because the way Naesala fucked him was,as much as he hated to admit it, enough to make him lose his mind all on its own. Maybe that was why he kept coming back for more of that smarmy, self-satisfied grin. He had not only the size, but the technique, to get him off every time, and all Reyson had to do was dig into handfuls of bedding and try to keep himself together long enough to avoid too much mockery.

Reyson's orgasm took him totally by surprise, and it wasn't the only thing. As his balls tightened and he felt the cum shooting up and out of his tip, spurting his seed all over his thigh and the floor, his wings extended out fully, knocking over everything in their way. The bedside table had all manner of things on it, and all of them hit the floor loudly. The small oil bottle itself was flung halfway across the room, leaving a trail in its wake. Most insultingly was the cocoa powder, which he had forgotten about entirely. The bag had laid open on the table since they got in, and his wing striking it sent up much of the powder as it went flying. As he gasped for air, body sensitive from his release, he realized that all that brown powder settled down into the pristine white feathers of his wings.

The fruition of his plan was enough of a self-satisfaction surge to set Naesala off. He pulled out of Reyson, placing his shaft instead between his cheeks, and one last push saw his cock erupting, sending out his own ropes of cum along the heron's lower back. His breath ragged, he pulled off of the heron, nonchalantly getting dressed as though nothing happened. That was the best way he knew to add insult to injury.

Very displeased, Reyson turned around, intent on bitching him out, but instead he had his clothes thrown at his face. "You planned this, didn't you?" he asked angrily. Pride forbade him from insisting that he make up for it by coming over and preening the now cocoa'd wing.

All Naesala answered with was one last flash of that smile as he slid into his boots and slipped out of the room.


End file.
